


Right on Time

by AcrobatElle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7047628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrobatElle/pseuds/AcrobatElle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was by far the strangest customer Killian ever had.</p><p>Well, she wasn't quite a customer. Customers actually bought things.</p><p>(Modern AU set in a furniture store. It's as ridiculous as it sounds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Killian didn’t notice the pattern at first.

Oh, he definitely noticed _her_. It was impossible not to, whenever he caught sight of her walking past the large glass windows of the storefront, all flowing blonde hair and perfect cheekbones. Sometimes she’d pause and look through the glass, an almost wistful expression on her face as she glanced over the (good quality but, frankly, overpriced, if you asked him) furniture spread throughout the showroom.

He’d catch a glimpse of her maybe once a week, always in the same clothes, jeans and a tightly-fitted black polo with sensible sneakers. A work uniform, he supposed, but he didn’t recognize it from any of the stand-alone stores that surrounded the sprawling mall, no logo or nametag to give her away.

It took six weeks before he realized he only ever saw her just after 3:00 p.m., and he began paying attention. (Simple curiosity, really.) Sure enough, she passed the storefront every day between 3:05 and 3:12. Some days she would glance through the windows and others she would barrel past without turning her head, but her brief appearances came like clockwork.

Truth be told, it was the best part of his day. A man who worked on commission only had so much joy in his life.

It didn’t take long for Robin to notice. Of course. “Pretty sure stalking’s illegal, mate.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Five-foot-five? Blonde hair? Looks like she could probably beat you up?”

“ _She’s_ the one who walks by our place of work every day. I do not _stalk_ , thank you.”

Robin smiled, and Killian knew he wouldn’t hear the end of this anytime soon. “Not yet, at any rate. But you should probably wipe your chin.”

“Says the man in love with his boss,” Killian threw back, raising a very pointed eyebrow.

That shut Robin up pretty quickly.

After another week, Killian realized she always returned from the opposite direction between 3:45 and 3:50. He stared after her for the third day in a row after discovering this new little quirk of her schedule, and found himself very seriously considering taking a _very_ late lunch break one of these days.

(Purely for research purposes, of course.)

“Stalker,” Robin whispered, breezing by too quickly for Killian to retort.

_Shit._

* * *

 

He probably shouldn’t have been as worried as he was when she didn’t pass by one Tuesday afternoon. It was only 3:15, after all. Perhaps she was delayed. Maybe she had the day off, or she --

“Jones. I pay you to look pretty and charm bored housewives into buying dining room sets, not stare out the window.”

The voice startled him; he should have heard the telltale click-clack of Regina’s impractical heels approaching him, but his mind had been… otherwise occupied. He gathered himself and turned, pasting a smile on his face.

“So you _do_ think I’m pretty. And here I thought you hired me for my expertise. I’m flattered, truly, but --“

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “I hired you because Americans think an English accent implies good taste and trustworthiness, no matter how wrong they might be.” She tilted her head towards the dining section. “There’s a woman browsing over there. Help her.”

Killian gave a sarcastic bow. “As you wish. I do so love it when you emerge from your crypt in the back and grace us all with your presence.”

If any employee other than him or Robin spoke to her that way they’d be fired on the spot, but Regina simply rolled her eyes and shooed him off.

In truth, Killian had been halfheartedly trying to get fired since the day he started. He suspected Regina respected that, in her own strange way. It was the oddest job interview he’d ever taken part in, with her more interested in confirming that he was, in fact, English and, as she put it, “decent-looking enough” for the job than determining if he was qualified for it.

“What the bloody hell am I even here for?” he had finally asked her, his patience wearing thin and his desire to work for her fading by the minute.

“Definitely English,” she’d muttered, glancing down at his résumé. “Look, I’ll level with you. I hired _one_ good-looking English guy, and his sales are nearly double everyone else’s on the floor, despite him having no appreciable skill or sales experience.”

Killian was pretty sure his eyebrows were touching his hairline by that point. “Do you talk about all of your employees this way?”

Regina had simply shrugged. “Do you want the job or not?”

He’d gone home without committing either way. Something (well, besides the obvious) had nagged him about the entire experience, and it wasn’t until he was trying to sleep that night that it hit him: despite her bluntness, she hadn’t once brought up his prosthetic hand. She’d hardly even glanced at it, when he thought back on it.

He’d called and accepted the job the next day.

It did occasionally annoy him that Regina never acknowledged that he _did_ bloody well know what he was talking about -- she had already disappeared to her office once more while he explained the difference between Atlantic Seaboard and California Coastal to his potential customer, but the woman’s starry-eyed smile and puppet-like nodding told him she wasn’t paying a bit of attention to what he had to say anyway.

Perhaps Regina was right.

He allowed himself to be dragged from dining set to dining set, patiently answering the woman’s questions and never quite discouraging her attempts at flirting with him when a bright flash of golden hair caught his eye from the other side of the sizable showroom.

It was her. _Inside the bloody store._

She looked tentative, glancing around uncertainly and letting her fingers drift across a mahogany tabletop. Killian watched her pick up the price tag, her face tightening as she read it. He knew that look, the one that browsers got just before turning and leaving.

(Regina really did charge too bloody much.)

She was a good hundred feet away but he’d still never seen her so close up. She was even lovelier at this distance, and she looked to have light eyes. Were they blue, or --

“Uh, hello? Are you even listening to me?” His customer tugged at his arm and he turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, love. I just thought…” he glanced back and saw Robin approaching her, tossing a smirk at Killian on the way, “...I thought my co-worker was trying to get my attention. My apologies. What was your question?”

It took another excruciating 15 minutes for the woman to come to a decision, and he handed her off to Belle to handle the payment and delivery information with his most charming smile. The instant he got more than a few paces from the register he found himself practically sprinting towards the center of the store, only stopping when Robin appeared, holding a frantic hand in his way.

“Is she still here?” Killian asked, glancing around and wondering why the hell he was so out-of-breath. He hadn’t run _that_ far.

“Bad idea, mate,” Robin warned him, turning his head towards the bedroom section.

“So she’s here?”

“Yes. And if you think _Regina_ is hostile, for the love of all that is holy, don’t try to talk to her.”

Killian finally caught a glimpse of her, mostly in profile, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she pressed against the mattress of a twin-sized bed, testing its firmness.

Her? Hostile?

“What the bloody hell did you say to her?”

Robin sighed. “I believe my exact words were, ‘Hello. May I help you with anything?’ She didn’t _actually_ hiss in response, but it was a near thing.”

“Are you sure that’s all you -- “

“ _Yes_. If she’d been looking for something in particular I would have pretended you were the expert and brought you over.”

Killian scoffed but didn’t take his eyes off the woman as she hopped on the bed and laid back, folding her hands over her abdomen. “I _am_ the expert. And if… you would have?” He finally looked at Robin again, who just rolled his eyes.

“Of course. I got tired of your lovesick puppy routine and figured I’d give you a little shove in the right direction. But I think you dodged a bullet with this one.”

“Maybe she’s just having a bad day,” he mused.

“Maybe. But she made it abundantly clear that if she wanted help, she’d ask for it. I’d tell you to keep an eye on her in case she does decide to buy something, but I think we both know you’ll be doing that anyway.”

Killian didn’t even have time to retort when Belle approached, thank God. He’d had enough of Robin taking the piss out of him for one day.

“Hey, guys.” She turned to Killian with an amused smile. “The woman who bought the dining set asked if you were single. Third one this week.”

He chuckled. “And what did you tell her?”

“One of these days I’ll act offended and tell someone _we’re_ dating just to see the look on her face.” Belle shrugged. “But no, just the usual, ‘Hasn’t found the right woman yet’ routine. You know she’ll be back.”

“And who am I to turn down a commission from a repeat customer?” Killian asked, his eyes drifting back to find the lass hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed. It almost looked like she was -

\-  taking a nap?

Belle followed Killian’s gaze. “Ah.” She turned to Robin. “Is he pulling his Edward Cullen routine again?”

“Bloody hell, not you too,” Killian grumbled, walking away while Belle snorted and Robin couldn’t quite contain his laughter.

Killian snatched a clipboard from the service desk and retreated to the living room section of the showroom, pretending to take inventory and doing his best to _not_ keep staring in the direction of a certain twin-sized bed.

(Well, _someone_ needed to keep an eye on her in case she felt like buying something, and he wasn’t about to let Robin muck it up again.)

In the end, she bought nothing.

It was the oddest thing. He’d thought his notion from earlier, that she was napping, to be completely daft, but… it appeared she was doing _exactly_ that, her eyes closed and her breathing deep and even. He drifted closer, careful to mostly keep his eyes on his clipboard and his body turned away from her.

He nearly jumped at the sound of an alarm, tinny and quiet as it was. It almost sounded like --

He glanced back in her direction and saw her fumbling to shut off her cell phone and wiping at her eyes. She sighed shoved her phone in her back pocket, taking a quick second to stretch her arms above her head.

Of course, she chose that exact moment to look in his direction.

Green. Her eyes were green.

That was his first thought. The second was sheer panic, and she likely thought he’d been _watching her bloody sleep_ this whole time (which -- only partially true, thank you, and this _was_ a furniture store, not a hostel).

They both froze for what felt like hours but in reality was probably only a few agonizing seconds before she scrambled from the bed and he looked down at his clipboard, his cheeks burning. He didn’t look up as her footsteps  grew farther away, hurried paces in the direction of the door.

Only when the footfalls stopped did he look up once more.

She’d halted with her hand on the door and looked back over her shoulder, her eyes holding his, her mouth pulled in a tight line. It almost looked like an apology.

Killian hazarded a smile, just a slight little upturn of his lips, and gave her a quick nod. hoping she caught his meaning. _You can come in for a nap anytime, love._

Her face relaxed, just barely, and she nodded in return, an almost-imperceptible tilt of her head.

And then she was gone.

* * *

 

Killian had managed to avoid Robin through most of the evening rush, but that only meant an interrogation over lunch the next day.

“So… she actually was taking a nap.”

Killian shrugged, staring down at his lunch while Robin rooted through the fridge in the break room. “Seemed that way. She set an alarm and everything.”

“And you didn’t say anything to her.”

“Did you or did you not warn me to stay away, lest I have my head ripped off?”

“Well… yes, but I’ve never known you to be shy when approaching a woman, no matter how bad of an idea it was. And believe me, after how she reacted to a simple offer for help, I don’t think any innuendoes from you would have been received well. Not that it’s ever stopped you before.”

Killian speared a bite of chicken with his fork and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want to wake her up.”

“You didn’t want to -- “ Robin laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not like this was her bedroom, Killian! It’s a place of a business.”

“Of course I know that. It just felt… wrong, I suppose. Like I was intruding on something.”

Robin stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “You are completely mad, you know that? And so when she woke up, you just -- “

“We stared at each other like a pair of frightened gazelles, and then she took off. But I think we had a moment.”

“A moment.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Mad. Completely, utterly mad.”

Killian sighed. “You had to be there.”

“Apparently. I’ll be shocked if she ever walks by the storefront again.”

“We’ll see, won’t we? In another…” Killian glanced at the clock, “two and a half hours, give or take.”

“Mad _and_ a stalker. I don’t see how she could possibly resist you.”

When she walked past the front windows at precisely 3:08 p.m., Killian couldn’t stop his smirk.

* * *

 

She didn’t come in, but she still walked by every day like clockwork. Whereas previously she would slow her walk and glance inside, now she simply powered by the storefront, her gaze firmly fixed in front of her and her hands shoved in her pockets.

Well, it was something, at least.

He wished he knew her name.

It was another two weeks before she missed her usual 3:07 walk-by. Instead of worrying, Killian felt nervous excitement growing in his belly.

_The last time she didn’t show up on time, she --_

God, he was pathetic. But he wasn’t wrong.

At precisely 3:17, there she was, tentatively stepping inside. Glancing around the store with her hands held together in front of her, seemingly relieved when she wasn’t immediately approached by a salesperson. It was always dead around the 3 p.m. hour anyway, most of the people on lunch breaks having filtered out and the usual customer base of stay-at-home mothers gone back to see their children home from school.

Just like last time, she meandered through the store and stopped once she reached the bedroom suites, tentatively pressing her hands against every mattress she passed.

It was only then that Killian realized he hadn’t moved from his spot in the rear of the store, clipboard in hand, inventory forgotten. And he’d been staring. _Again_.

She seemed to find something she liked by the fourth mattress she tested, the tiniest smile gracing her features as she pressed into the comforter. Killian felt himself smiling along with her; the expression was like the sun coming out.

She looked up then, as if she could feel him watching her, and Killian froze when their eyes met again.

_Get off your arse and talk to her, you git._

She glanced down quickly, the smile falling from her face and replaced with a slightly embarrassed look. It was just as fetching, but not what he wanted to see, and Killian knew if he approached her she’d run again. So he waited, and when she glanced up once more, he gave her another quick nod, just like last time. He turned his attentions back to his clipboard, praying she caught his meaning.

Forcing himself to keep his head down was an agonizing test of his patience, but he counted to 100 mentally and waited, wandering the aisles as if he actually had something to do and somewhere to be.

He counted back down to zero once he reached 100, just to be safe.

When he finally allowed himself to look up, he saw her snuggled up on her side, one arm buried underneath a decorative pillow.

Thoroughly charmed, he genuinely resumed his work this time, waving off Robin when he tried to point out the lovely blonde using their store as her own personal hotel.

Last time she’d left right before 4:00. If his thinking was correct, she’d probably be getting up by --

At 3:50 on the dot, her cell phone beeped, and she once again startled out of her sleep (how the bloody hell could she fall asleep so quickly anyway? She’d hardly been in the store a half hour), scrambling to turn off her phone and shaking off the cobwebs, stifling a yawn as she climbed out of the bed and neatly adjusted the comforter and pillows. She took a few steps towards the door but stopped, turning and looking until her eyes found Killian’s again.

Just like last time, he smiled and nodded. She didn’t smile but returned the gesture, a jerky little movement of her head before she turned and power-walked to the door, disappearing from whence she came.

Remarkable. By Killian’s count they’d had three conversations now, with neither of them ever saying a word.

* * *

 

After that, she showed up every Friday for a 20-minute nap. Killian let her.

* * *

 

“Why do you think she’s doing this?” Belle asked after another month, watching his blonde temptress exit the store yet again.

“Rough job, perhaps? I know I’ve certainly wanted to catch some shut-eye on lunch break before.”

“Maybe. I still can’t believe you haven’t talked to her.”

“What would I say? ‘I know you’re probably tired, love, so why don’t I interrupt what’s probably your only peaceful moment of the day?’”

“That’s… strangely considerate of you.”

He grinned. “Well, I aim to please.”

Belle sighed. “I’m serious, Killian. You should talk to her sometime. This isn’t like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ll hit on anything that moves.”

“That’s a sales tactic, Belle. You know that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even try to pretend that’s what it’s about. I’ve been out with you and Robin before. I’ve seen how much you flirt.”

“That’s just simple fun and you know it. You act like I bring home a different lass every night.”

“I know you don’t, I just… what’s with you? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Still don’t know what you mean, love.”

Belle groaned, rubbing a hand across her face. “Fine. Do you want me to follow her one day? See where she’s going?”

“This isn’t espionage, for heaven’s sake. And _no_ , don’t follow her. I tried approaching her a few weeks ago. She didn’t have to say a damned word, just shook her head at me before I could get within earshot.”

“That’s… strange.”

“She doesn’t want me to talk to her, Belle. So I won’t.”

* * *

 

They continued their strange dance for another three weeks, and Killian began to feel less bad for knowing her schedule as well as he did, considering she stuck to it with a regularity that would make a Swiss watchmaker proud. It had been nearly two months now, and it was always the same: every Friday she arrived just after 3:20, found a bed, laid down, and woke to her alarm at precisely 3:50 only to leave again.

It was oddly comforting, knowing that she would always be there.

The eighth Friday was business as usual aside from her appearing just a tad late -- 3:27 this time -- but Killian could hardly register her arrival as he was busy with the same woman he’d sold the dining set to a few months ago. She wore a wedding ring but that certainly didn’t stop her from batting her eyelashes at every turn and looking for any excuse in the book to touch him. Killian managed to hide his grimace behind his best fake smile; a commission was a commission, after all.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the woman finally chose a coffee table and he could hand her off to Belle to arrange the delivery (“Sadly, love, I don’t actually bring the furniture to your house. Your offer is tempting, but thanks all the same”) and he was able to step away, preferably to find some hand sanitizer.

He was on his way to the break room when he saw her, still curled up on a top-of-the-line Tempurpedic. He shook his head with a laugh until he glanced at the clock on the wall.

4:05.

He, Robin, and Belle had all agreed that she was stopping in on her lunch break from wherever it was she worked. And she always, _always_ left before 4:00, usually exiting the store like a bat out of hell. Wherever she was going, she definitely had some sort of deadline.

Well.

He pondered his dilemma for only a moment before approaching her and couldn’t help but smile as he got closer. She was curled up in a fetal position, her small purse clutched to her much in the way a child would cling to a teddy bear. She was clearly out and he couldn’t hear her alarm; either she forgot to set it or her phone otherwise malfunctioned.

He stopped a few feet from the bed and for a brief second contemplated just turning around and letting her sleep. They didn’t know each other (no matter how much he felt like he _did_ know her, even just a tiny piece of her). They’d never even bloody _spoken_. He owed her nothing; if anything, he’d been doing her a favor by steering the other salespeople (Robin and Belle knew better, but the rest? He wasn’t so eager to share the whole ridiculous story) away from her and keeping a sharp eye out for Regina whenever she stopped in for her weekly slumbers.

But he simply couldn’t shake the hurried way she always left the store. Like she’d be in trouble if she were late to wherever her destination was.

And she was, undoubtedly, already late.

He glanced at the clock again. 4:08.

He sighed, taking another step closer, almost close enough to touch her.

“Lass?” he whispered.

She didn’t stir, her breathing deep and even and her hair falling gracefully over her forehead. Good heavens, she was lovely.

“Lass?” he tried again, just a bit louder. She still didn’t budge.

Well then.

He took a final step, closing the last of the distance and perching himself just at the edge of the mattress. After one aborted attempt he finally found the will to reach out, placing his hand gently on her upper arm. “Miss?” He kept his voice low and gave her a gentle shake.

She stirred but simply burrowed further into the pillow, a low grumble escaping her throat.

He gripped her arm just a bit more tightly, afraid to press too hard, and gave another shake, a bit more vigorously this time. “Lass,” he said, finally at normal speaking volume. “You need to wake up.”

“Hmmm?” she asked, stirring again but not quite conscious.

“You need to get up, love,” he repeated, leaning down just a bit. Finally, _finally_ , she slowly blinked her eyes open. They were even more beautiful this close up, still hazy with sleep but a glass-green that reminded him of the sea.

“What?” she asked, her voice thick with slumber, seemingly not realizing where she was.

It finally hit him then, just how _exhausted_ this woman was. Beautiful as they were, her eyes had a slight reddish tinge to them and a faint hint of dark circles that weren’t completely covered by her makeup.

As strange as her habit of stopping in for a nap was, for some reason it never occurred to Killian that she was stealing a few moments of sleep because she desperately needed it. His chest tightened at the thought.

“It’s past 4 o’clock, love,” he told her gently. “You usually leave before now, and I thought….”

“ _What_?” She sat straight up, terror in her voice, suddenly wide awake. “What time is it?”

He glanced back at the clock. “4:10. You usually go before -- “

“Oh God,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands for a brief moment before pulling her phone from her purse. “How the hell did I -- “ she mumbled, swiping until she found the screen she was looking for. “God. I set the alarm for A.M., not P.M. _Shit_. I need to go.”

She swiped under her eyes furiously, wiping the last remnants of sleep from them and slid off the bed, nearly shoving Killian aside as she went. Despite her flustered frenzy to leave, she stopped after two paces, mumbling a quick apology.

“It’s all right, truly,” he assured her, and he was rewarded with another look into those captivating eyes when she turned around.

She opened her mouth but seemed to lose her words, whatever she wanted to say dying on her tongue. She clamped it shut and glanced down at her shoes for a split second before looking back at him.

“Thanks,” she told him haltingly. “For waking me up. And for... “ she gestured wildly around the various beds and mattresses, giving up on even trying to put into words what she’d been doing there for so many weeks.

He smiled and, as he did every week, gave her a quick nod. “Anytime, love.”

She stared at him a moment more before returning the nod, suddenly remembering herself and turning to leave, taking off at a near-sprint.

He stared after her, utterly dumbfounded, when Belle approached behind him.

“Well,” she noted cheerfully. “That’s new.”

-/-

_to be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely response to this! This chapter's a bit shorter than the first, mostly because this was too perfect of a stopping point to pass up. Going forward, I'll try to update once a week or so. Enjoy!

“So, did that break the ice? Do you think she’ll actually talk to you now?” Robin asked that Monday, a minute after they watched her cross in front of the storefront as usual.

Killian scratched at his ear. “I don’t know. She was so spooked at being late to… whatever it was that I don’t think she even registered that we had a conversation.”

“Well, you’ll find out at the end of this week.”

“I suppose, provided I haven’t scared her off for good.”

“Are you _nervous_?” Belle asked, a teasing note in her voice, clearly delighted at the prospect.

“No, I am not bloody nervous! Why are you two so interested in this, anyway?”

Robin scoffed. “Killian, we’re surrounded by overpriced furnishings. She’s the most exciting thing that’s happened around here in a year.”

Killian sighed. Of course his friends would consider his… predicament their own personal reality show. “I am not here for your entertainment.”

Robin simply snorted, and Belle just smiled and patted his shoulder before walking off. “You should have thought of that before you started being so entertaining, then.”

* * *

Friday came.

And yes, he was bloody nervous.

He knew what her voice sounded like now, knew what her eyes looked like up close, knew that she wasn’t nearly as frigid as Robin initially assumed. She was just… guarded. And tired. Obviously so, so tired.

His curiosity had been dampened by sympathy after their last encounter. She was obviously stressed, ridiculously so, and stretched so thin in her life that she’d resorted to taking a weekly nap in a furniture store, knowing full well she could be kicked out at any moment. At first he’d thought she wasn’t risking much by doing so -- it’s not as if she would be arrested or anything, merely asked to leave -- but the longer he thought about it (and oh, had he thought about it), the more he realized how false that was.

She was risking _shame_.

Killian knew a thing or two about that.

He tried to keep himself occupied when 3:00 rolled around, doing his best to look busy in a store that hadn’t seen a new customer in the last 20 minutes.

The little bell on the front door chimed while he uselessly adjusted the spacing of a living room set. He glanced at the clock -- 3:21.

He fought back a smile. Right on time.

He pretended to finish the job he was doing, as if moving a random loveseat a few inches to the left even meant a damn thing, before allowing himself to look up. She was there, beautiful as always, this time making a determined beeline to the bedroom suites.

She didn’t even look at him before choosing a mattress, climbing up and curling into a fetal position, her back to him.

He sighed. So. That was that.

Her alarm went off at 3:50, like always. She gave him a stiff nod on her way out, as always, but kept her eyes trained on the door as she tilted her head.

He stared after her as she left, and tried not to roll his eyes when Robin’s unmistakable footsteps approached behind him. “Sorry, mate.” And he did actually sound sorry.

Killian shrugged, pasting a bored look on his face. “Well, now I know.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t that his Tuesday was going _that_ badly. Not really. Just a series of small inconveniences that gradually chipped away at his patience and left him with a dull headache and a scowl on his face.

He’d overslept and came in fifteen minutes late that morning in cold and rainy weather and forgotten his umbrella to boot, earning a lecture from Regina that lasted so long he talked himself out of quitting on the spot at least four times during her lengthy tirade while he shook out his wet clothes. Every other customer who came in the damned place was rude, condescending, or both, and no fewer than three of them had eyed his prosthetic hand with a lack of tact that would have made even his boss blush.

Even sweet Belle was in a bad mood and not up for chatting, and Robin must have gotten into it with Regina as well, if his terse replies to Killian’s attempts at small talk were any indication.

And then, when 11:30 rolled around, he realized he’d forgotten his lunch. He wasn’t hurting for options for food, not with the mall’s food court and various restaurants scattered around the periphery, but it was still pouring rain outside and he _still_ didn’t have a bloody umbrella.

It was either go hungry or get soaked.

Killian chose the latter, if only to get the hell away from the store for an hour. His closest option was the sports bar a few hundred yards down the walkway, the one with the gaudy neon signs and advertisements for American football and terrible beer that held no interest to him whatsoever.

So. Overpriced chicken wings it would be.

He held his jacket over his head as he ran, his socks getting soaked through and still managing to drench half of his shirt despite his makeshift raincoat. He shook out his clothes as best he could once he made it through the doors, feeling very much like a labrador retriever trying to dry off after a swim.

It seemed the weather had scared off most of the patrons, as the restaurant was nearly as empty as his own store. He waved off an offer to be seated by a hostess and made his way to the bar area instead, choosing one of the smaller booths and wondering if he could squeeze the moisture out of his socks without anyone noticing.

A bored waitress dropped off a menu and a glass of water as he shook out his jacket once more, glancing around the place. It wasn’t that bad, all told. The music wasn’t too loud and seemed to stick to a 90s alternative theme, a few of the big screens were showing the Everton match, so at least he’d have something to watch. Some saint of an employee had clearly cranked the heat up, which kept his shivers at bay while he dried out and perused the menu.

It was standard bar fare, and he decided to forgo the wings in favor of a burger, settling back to watch what he could of the match before his food arrived. A quick look at the weather app on his phone told him he wouldn’t get a reprieve on his walk back to work -- the rain wouldn’t subside for hours, at least.

He briefly wondered if he’d see her walking by in such a storm. He doubted it, not with the way his day had been going.

He allowed himself to relax and watch the match for a bit, only interrupted when the waitress dropped off his food. The burger was actually quite good, much to his surprise. Perhaps he’d misjudged the place. He, Belle, and Robin could probably come here for a change of pace on the occasional Fridays they went out for a few drinks.

He got so wrapped up watching the match that he forgot himself for a bit, and he only noticed the time when he checked his phone at the beep of a Facebook notification -- he flagged down his server for the check with only ten minutes to pay and get back to work, and he wasn’t keen on subjecting himself to Regina’s wrath again.

He sighed as he waited for the bill. He’d only just gotten dry, the short walk back to the store seeming much longer once he was warm and full. Good food and football or not, it wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had.

The waitress finally returned with only five minutes left on his lunch break, a confused look on her face. She handed him a zeroed-out bill and a small umbrella. “Uh, Emma took care of your check and said to give you this. She said something about returning the favor?”

“What -- who’s Emma? And why --”

The waitress shrugged and nodded towards the bar, which didn’t help much, considering there was no one sitting at it or standing behind it. “Hell if I know, but she paid it before I could even print your receipt. Have a good one, okay? Stay dry.”

And with that, she was off.

Only then did Killian register what the waitress was wearing. Jeans. A fitted black polo. Sensible shoes.

He turned towards the bar once more, finding it still empty. It couldn’t be. This whole bloody time she was literally three doors down from him and --

 _Emma?_ Was that her name?

He waited a few moments, work schedule be damned, and his breath caught when a familiar face emerged from the kitchen and stepped behind the bar, hands loaded with bottles of liquor and her hair pulled into a loose ponytail.

He’d never even looked to the bar the entire time he was there, too wrapped up in the football match to even notice her. Had she been watching him this whole time? Or worse, had she been _hiding_ from him this whole time?

She froze when she saw him looking at her, clearly expecting him to be gone by then.

He forgot to breathe for a few heartbeats and fumbled with the umbrella he forgot he’d been holding, juggling it a bit and just managing to snatch hold of it before he could drop it. _Smooth, Killian_.

He chuckled to himself and she finally moved, setting the bottles on the bar and fighting a smile, probably at his own bumbling foolishness. He was tempted to just drop the damn thing then and there, just to see if she’d finally send a real smile his way, a flash of teeth, a laugh, _anything_.

In the end he couldn’t do much more than smile stupidly at her, holding up the umbrella in a gesture he hoped conveyed his thanks. One corner of her mouth did turn up then and she nodded, disappearing back to the kitchen.

Killian knew she wouldn’t show her face again, not while he was still there. He dazedly pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave a tip on the table, looking back down at the umbrella in his hand and shaking his head, his face threatening to crack with a grin he could hardly control.

While it couldn’t keep his feet dry on the walk back, at least it stopped his hair and shirt from getting soaked again. He hardly made it in the door before coming face-to-face with Regina, a scowl on her face. “You’re late. Again.” Her eyes flicked over him. ”And you look like a drowned rat.”

Killian bowed in a grandiose gesture, and he may or may not have shook the umbrella just so, just enough to send a fine mist of water across the front of her pencil skirt. “Lovely to see you too, Highness. My apologies. I’ll stay late to make up for it.” He brushed past her without another word, waiting for the yelling to start.

It never came, only a long-suffering sigh as she retreated to her office, her heels clacking along the way. “Dry off before you go back on the floor, for godsakes.”

Killian would never understand how Regina knew he’d responded with a sarcastic salute despite her back being turned to him, but her perfectly-timed “shove it, Jones” only confirmed his suspicion that his boss was some sort of witch.

Robin stood back, watching the exchange from the middle of the floor, raising an eyebrow at Killian as he walked past.

“I don’t know what you see in her, mate,” Killian smirked.

Robin ignored the jab, an exasperated expression on his face. “Are you _trying_ to get fired?"

"Maybe.

"What the hell has gotten into you?”

Killian stopped and turned, tapping his friend in the chest with the umbrella. “Emma.”

“What?”

He grinned. “Her name is Emma.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

"So. _Emma._ " Belle seemed entirely too pleased with the development. By this point Killian's lunch breaks weren't so much _breaks_ as they were interrogations.

"Yes, Emma. And she works just down the way."

"Should we go there the next time we have a night out?" A perfectly innocent question, and something he'd already thought of, but…

Killian shook his head. "Not just yet. She's… careful. I'd rather not scare her off."

Belle shrugged, digging into her salad. "She's working ridiculous hours, I can tell you that much."

"I've figured she's working a lot, but - "

"Not just a lot, Killian." Belle rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. "You've never had the pleasure of working in a restaurant, have you?"

"No, but -"

"Well, I have. She's doing double shifts," Belle told him. "Ten or eleven a.m. until the lunch rush is over, which is probably why she never comes by until after 3:00. She gets a quick break in the early afternoon, and then she's back on the floor for the evening. If she's doing doubles she's probably doesn't have to close the place up, but still, that's a long time to be on the floor. Twelve hour-days, most likely."

Killian thought back to Emma's red eyes and sluggish demeanor. "Aye, you're probably right."

"...are you all right?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Fine, love. Why wouldn't I be?"

Belle regarded him curiously. "I just… nevermind." She shook her head and went back to her food.

She worked twelve-hour days. Her name was Emma, she had green eyes, and she worked twelve-hour days.

Sixty hours, and that was just Monday through Friday. Somehow, Killian suspected Emma's weekends weren't much better.

"I'll talk to her," he told Belle, with a confidence he didn't really feel.

And he would. He'd talk to her if it killed him.

* * *

 In the two days between his conversation with Belle and Emma's inevitable Friday visit to the store, Killian talked himself out of his plan to approach her a dozen times. And talked himself back into it thirteen.

It'd be simple enough. Approach, introduce himself, thank her for buying his lunch, and ask if she'd like her umbrella back. A perfectly reasonable plan, really.

One he'd gone over in his head in excruciating, painful detail so many times he'd begun questioning whether he was a thirty-two year old man or a teenage schoolboy with a crush. He'd been on edge all day and hardly spoke a word at lunch.

(Belle and Robin's knowing smiles didn't help much.)

As one o'clock became two he could hardly keep a thought in his head, his eyes drifting to the clock with painful regularity as he waited, empty smiles at the customers who came in and forcing himself to stay busy, going over inventory he'd already taken care of to keep from checking the time too often. Every time he thought, surely, that at least ten minutes had gone by since he'd last looked only to see the minute hand had barely moved, and -

Definitely a schoolboy with a crush. It was like he was in bloody calculus class again, counting down the seconds until the bell.

As two o'clock became three, his heart was _definitely_ not racing. He gave up on the inventory, tossing his clipboard aside and grabbing a bottle of water from the back, his throat suddenly, painfully dry. What the bloody hell was _wrong_ with him?

"Relax, Killian."

He nearly jumped at the sound of Belle's voice, turning to see an amused smile on her face.

"I'm perfectly relaxed, thank you."

Her smile grew wider. "You're sweating."

"I am _not sweating_." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve anyway. Just in case.

"You'll be fine, okay? I've seen you talk to hundreds of women, for heaven's sake. This can't be any different."

"Aye, I suppose you're right." It was a lie and they both knew it, his eyes flicking back to the clock. 3:05. Any minute now. His gaze drifted to the front door and he waited, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself while Belle giggled next to him.

She was enjoying watching him squirm entirely too much.

After a few minutes Belle left him to help with a customer, leaving him to stand there like the idiot he was, eyes still on the front door, waiting for that familiar confident walk and flash of blonde hair.

It never came.

3:05 became 3:15 became 3:30, and Killian's heart slowly deflated with each passing minute as passerby after passerby went along, none of them the sight that had made his Fridays worthwhile for the past two months.

Was that it? Was her buying his lunch her way of putting a lid on this whole… thing, whatever it was?

By the time 3:55 rolled around Killian found himself getting angry. Not at Emma but himself - he was stupid, so bloody _stupid_ to have worked himself up like this, making the whole situation into more than it was, he didn't even _know_ her, she'd never shown even a passing interest in speaking to him, and here he was acting like he'd been stood up on a date.

Emma didn't owe him anything.

 _So_ bloody stupid.

Robin caught him a few minutes later as he tried to disappear to the break room for a moment, sympathy on his face and Killian wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole and disappear after making such a fool of himself in front of his friends.

"Hey." Robin's hand on his arm stopped him. "Drinks are on me tonight?"

Killian tried to smile, though it probably came out as more of a grimace. "God, yes. Thanks."

Rum would be a poor substitute for seeing Emma, but it would have to do.

* * *

 "She's still walking by every day, you know." Belle told him the next Wednesday.

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

He truly didn't. After a particularly rum-soaked weekend he'd gone to work that Monday with a pounding headache and no more ridiculous illusions. He resolutely avoided looking to the front of the store once 3:00 rolled around. He supposed it would get easier with time, to get over all this nonsense.

There wasn't even anything for him to be getting _over_ , and that bothered him most of all, the way he'd allowed himself to get so worked up over an imaginary connection that didn't exist. He scrubbed his face with his hand and glanced around, relieved to see a customer walk in so he could get away from Belle.

If he kept avoiding the conversation, maybe his friends would stop bringing it up.

* * *

 By Friday he'd taken to disappearing in the break room precisely at 3:00. He was technically owed a break anyway, and it seemed as good a time as any to take it. He sat with a bottle of water and scrolled through his phone, hoping for a few minutes of peace before Robin came poking around and tried to convince him Emma would show up.

She wouldn't, he was certain.

He'd hardly started to read the Premiere League scores when the door flew open, Robin leaning in.

"Bloody hell," Killian muttered. His friends were like clockwork. Well-meaning, irritating clockwork.

"Killian," Robin hissed. "She's here."

He nearly dropped his phone. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ , I'm sure. And you'd better get the hell out there before she finds a bed to lie on, because Regina's on the floor."

Killian was up and out of the room before Robin could finish his sentence, his blood running cold as soon as Regina's name was uttered. Emma had seemed embarrassed enough the first time Killian "caught" her. The thought of Regina even approaching her, possibly accusing her of trespassing and telling her to leave and threatening to call the cops if she -

No. He'd seen his boss do it before, too, with people who clearly weren't there to buy anything. It typically only happened to bored teenagers who'd drifted in from the mall and lounged on the massage chairs, but - no. It couldn't happen to Emma. He wouldn't allow it.

It seemed Regina had already spotted her ( _dammit_ ) when he got back to the floor, his boss standing with her arms crossed as she surveyed the store.

"Jones," she said, tilting her head towards the bedroom suites. "Go - "

"I'm on it," he said, almost _too_ quickly, and he tried his best to walk at a normal pace. She was going through her usual routine, testing the firmness of a mattress before drifting to another, her back to Killian as he approached.

"Hello there," he tried, his voice remarkably steady, and her shoulders stiffened before she turned around.

She was lovely as ever, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, her face suspicious and tired. "Um. Hi."

"I missed seeing you last week." _Fuck_. He cringed as soon as the words left him. So much for not appearing like some bloody stalker. "I just meant - you usually show up on Fridays and I just - well." He gestured helplessly at nothing in particular, his ears burning at his utter stupidity.

She eyed him warily. "Yeah, we were short-staffed and I couldn't leave on my lunch break."

"Oh." That was it. He'd nearly destroyed his liver over the weekend because she'd gotten stuck at work.

Completely, utterly stupid.

He smiled in spite of himself, his heartbeat calming just a bit. "I'm sorry, love, can I try this again? I'm Killian. I wanted to thank you for lunch."

She blinked, seemingly baffled that he was still talking to her. "Oh. It's nothing. You've been letting me… well." She waved her arm at the bed next to her. "I just wanted to return the favor."

He shook his head, his smile growing wider. "It's no trouble, really. Emma, right?"

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"Your co-worker told me after you bought my lunch. I didn't didn't ask, she just - "

"Oh. Okay." She relaxed visibly. "Look, Killian, I don't want to be rude or anything, but would you mind if I...?" She glanced at the bed again.

He scratched at his ear. "That's why I came over, actually. Do you see that woman over my shoulder? Center of the store?"

Emma thankfully wasn't too obvious as she looked, just a subtle flick of her eyes. "There's two."

"I'm referring to the one who looks like the Evil Queen with a fondness for Chanel."

Her lips twitched up at that, the faintest inkling of a smile. "Yeah, I see her."

"That would be one Regina Mills, the owner. And while my friends and I certainly have no issue with you dropping in for a quick nap, Regina is a bit more…"

She raised an amused brow. "Evil?"

He chuckled at that. "That may be a bit harsh, but I don't think she would approve. She usually doesn't stay out here long before disappearing back into her crypt, but it's probably best to pretend you're a customer until she leaves."

"I understand." She'd lost the suspicious look, replaced now with an expression of reserved… interest, perhaps?

"As long as we're waiting for my boss to disappear, may I ask you something, Emma?"

"I might not answer, but go ahead."

"Fair enough. I was just wondering, why do you do this? Come in here for a nap? And why only on Fridays?"

She took a small step backwards and glanced down at the floor. "I, um. I work a lot of hours. By Friday I'm usually pretty tired. Lying down for a few minutes helps."

His suspicions had been correct, then.

"And my mattress at home sucks."

He laughed then, and there it was, another almost-smile on her face. "You know, I _could_ assist you in finding a new one."

She snorted. "Not with the prices here."

It made his heart jump a bit, her making a joke, not trying to get away just… having a conversation. Like she wanted to talk to him. "Aye, I don't blame you. I saw your face the first time you looked at a price tag in here," he noted, amused.

"Seriously, how the hell do you sell anything?"

Killian shrugged. "Some people have too much money."

Emma's gaze drifted back over his shoulder. "Must be nice."

He didn't miss the wistfulness in her voice, another layer he hadn't considered (of fucking _course_ she struggled financially, she wouldn't be working like a fiend otherwise).

"Your boss is staring daggers at me," she observed wryly. And there it was, another glimpse of the humor hiding behind her tired eyes and wary demeanor.

He liked her, he suddenly realized. Bloody hell, he actually _liked_ her. Didn't just think she was beautiful, wasn't just intrigued by her curious sleeping habits, but wanted to really know her. He had a few simple facts catalogued away and he could pretend to have some sort of insight into her life, but there was so much _more_ lurking underneath all that, under the shell of a person he'd constructed in his mind and he wanted it, wanted to know it all.

Didn't want to scare her away.

The simple thought stole his breath straight from his lungs. There'd been one-night stands over the last few years, endless meaningless flirtations on nights out with his friends but there was a spark of _something_ happening and it scared the shit out of him, this feeling he didn't think he was capable of anymore.

It scared the shit out of him, but it intrigued him more.

"...Killian?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, love. I… Regina's still staring at us?"

"Yeah. And she doesn't look happy."

Of course she didn't. He'd been making moon-eyes at Emma for the last few minutes. "She seldom does. Here, walk with me."

"Huh?"

"Walk with me. Look at the beds as we go by and pretend I'm saying something interesting."

"What? I - oh." She caught on quickly. "Pretending to sell me something?"

He nodded. "Exactly. See, here, for example," he broadly gestured to the mattress in front of him, "is a right piece of shit that's marked up at least 50% and will need replacing within 18 months."

There it was, _finally_ , a genuine smile on her face. It was utterly breathtaking. "I never did sleep on that one. Too lumpy."

"See, I knew you'd have good taste."

Her smile turned to an outright grin, one she fought back by biting her lip as she continued through the showroom. "And this one?"

"Expensive, but not a bad investment. Good if you like a firm mattress."

Her lips turned down a bit at that. "I've had enough of those to last a lifetime. I like the softer ones."

Emma likely had no idea what she'd just revealed in two simple sentences. He ignored the lurch in his heart and took that tiny bit of information - one that contained _so much_ \- and led her to a large canopied king-sized bed, a gorgeous mahogany piece with intricate designs hand-carved into the posts. "Maybe this would be more to your liking?"

She eyed it skeptically. "This would take up half my apartment."

"I meant the mattress, love. Give it a try?" He hadn't seen her sleep on this one yet, and… now that he thought of it, he'd never seen her nap on anything larger than a full.

Another piece of information, another lurch in his chest. She never slept on anything that couldn't fit in her home, whatever it was.

She hopped on the bed obligingly, and the satisfied smile that crossed her face as she laid back made him grin in return. He thought she'd like this one, with its soft springs and pillowed top.

She threaded her fingers together, resting them over her stomach. "Mmm. This is perfect." She gave herself a moment to sink into it, eyes flitting closed for a few seconds of pure bliss before sitting up and looking for the tag. "And probably way out of my price range. It's… yep." She glanced at Killian and shrugged. "My futon'll have to do."

"Well, at least you know where you can sleep next Friday." The words slipped out before he could stop them and he inwardly cringed at the assumption, that should would even want to come here again, but -

She smiled once more, and expression he was becoming addicted to. "Yeah, I'll have to remember this one. Speaking of which..." she glanced up at the clock on the wall and his gaze followed hers, only to see -

3:47. Shit.

"You've missed your nap," he concluded.

"Yeah." She slid off the bed and shoved her hands in her pockets, looking a little lost.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I thought I could - "

"It's okay," she assured him. "If you hadn't stepped in before your boss saw me I probably would have ended up with a restraining order."

It was a small consolation, but it was something, at least. "True. You're still welcome anytime, just - "

"Keep an eye out for the Chanel-wearing witch?"

He really, _really_ liked her. "Aye. And I'll be sure to keep watch."

"Thanks," she said, a little shy. She glanced down at the floor and then back at him and - "Can I ask _you_ something?"

He blinked at her, still stunned that she hadn't run away yet. "Of course."

"Why do you let me?"

"Let you what?" he asked, before his addled brain could even catch up to his mouth.

"Let me sleep here. It's pretty… weird." She shrugged, a light blush creeping up her cheeks.

"I don't mind."

"Yeah, but _why_? It sounds like you could get in trouble for letting me do this."

He grinned. "Two other employees are complicit in our little scheme. Regina would never fire all of us at once." Emma smiled - _again_ , God, this was the best day he'd had in ages - but wasn't letting him off the hook that easily, raising an eyebrow and waiting for him to continue. "I just… you seemed like you needed it."

Her blush deepened, and she suddenly couldn't meet his eyes. "Thanks. It really does help."

"Would you like your umbrella back?"

Her head snapped up. "Huh?"

"Your umbrella. The one you gave me when you bought my lunch?"

"Oh." She seemed surprised he'd even brought it up. "Nah, it wasn't even mine. We have a whole stash of them in the back. Customers leave them all the time."

"Consider yourself lucky. All I get are handsy housewives."

Her laugh was unexpected and glorious, her head thrown back and eyes crinkling at the corners. "I work in a bar, buddy. If all you have to deal with are handsy housewives, you've got an easier job than I do."

"Of that I have no doubt."

She glanced up at the clock and back at him. "I, uh… I need to go or I'll be late for my shift."

 _Don't leave._ "Of course."

She hesitated a moment, half-turned to leave before she stopped and set her shoulders. "You should come to the bar for lunch again sometime. I can't buy your food every time, but I can give you a discount."

Another hitch in his heart, another stolen breath. "I'd like that."

And one last smile, one he knew would carry him through the weekend. "See you around, Killian."

He could only nod as she walked past him, his mouth dry and eyes trained on her as she made her way to the door. She didn't turn to look at him as she often did when she left but she didn't need to, not with her last words to him echoing in his head.

And especially not when he could see her smiling to herself as she walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

"So when's the wedding?" Robin asked, a shit-eating grin on his face as he returned from the bar in their usual Friday night pub and handed Killian and Belle their drinks.

"Sod off." Killian's words had little bite behind them, and even if they had, the heat he felt creeping up his face likely negated any hint of an insult.

His friends had nearly tackled him once Regina left the floor after he finally, _finally_ spoke to Emma, and Robin's insistence that they go out for celebratory drinks for a ten-minute conversation made Killian genuinely question whether they all actually qualified for adulthood, but he wasn't about to turn down free alcohol.

Though the conversation _had_ been pretty spectacular, when he thought about it. And he'd thought about it a lot, practically floating through the rest of his shift and smiling at random, nonsensical intervals. She'd smiled at him. Actually _laughed_ at one of his jokes. Invited him to come see her at work, and… no, he clearly wasn't qualified for adulthood. Somehow still stuck in grade school, this ridiculous reversion after -

\- after everything.

"You're daydreaming again." Belle nudged him with her elbow, but she wasn't teasing, not really, her face amused but clearly delighted for him. Killian's face broke out in another uncontrolled grin and he didn't realize how much he'd needed that until this exact moment, needed one of his friends to be _happy_ for him, but something about Belle's gentle assurance just made the night better.

She leaned into him conspiratorially. "I think she likes you."

He shook his head and sipped at his Guinness. "She _tolerates_ me, love. There's a difference."

Belle scoffed. "If she only _tolerated_ you she would have said thank you and left it at that, not invited you to her place of work and offered you a discount." Belle's glee as Killian had recounted his conversation had been amusing, and her current investment even more so. "Besides, I saw how she looked at you. Trust me, she's interested. So when will you go see her?"

"I… haven't thought about that, honestly." At her question a new source of panic threatened to seize him. Was her invitation a one-time thing or a running one? Should he just go once? Show up once a week, just like she did in the store?

Belle's elbow returned to his side, sharper this time. "Drink more, panic less. Maybe something mid-week? If you go on Monday you might seem a bit too eager. Tuesday or Wednesday?"

Killian shrugged, hiding his face behind his pint glass. "Aye, that could work." He took another sip, pondering, ignoring Robin's eye-roll across the table. "Tuesday, I think. Tuesday sounds good."

Tuesday did seem perfect, the more he thought about it. He was guaranteed to see her every Friday, and Tuesday split the difference of the days in between nicely. If Emma seemed amenable to him making Tuesday lunches a habit, then he could see her twice a -

\- bloody fuck, he really was a stalker.

Though he had to admit, it certainly made his Monday go a bit easier, know he'd have a chance to talk to Emma the next day. He was far too chipper for the beginning of the week, something Robin and Belle were all too eager to comment on.

"So. You're going tomorrow?" Belle asked, a knowing lilt to her voice.

"If I say no, will you drop the subject?"

"Absolutely not. In fact, if you don't, I'll go myself."

Killian recoiled. "You wouldn't."

"If the threat alone is enough to convince you, my work here is done." Belle crossed her arms over her chest. "You _are_ going, right?"

He buried his face in his hand. "Bloody hell, _yes_ , I'm going."

"Good. Just don't go at noon."

"I - what?"

She rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. "You want to actually talk to her, right?"

"Well, yes, but - "

"Then don't go at the busiest time of day for her. Go early or late. 11:00, or anything after 1:00. If you catch her in the middle of the lunch rush she won't have time to do anything other than bring you your food."

"Oh." He hadn't even thought that far, but Belle - "right, you've worked in restaurants."

"Trust me," she assured him. She glanced over him, reading far more into his body language than he felt comfortable with. "You'll be _fine_."

He started to protest, to insist that she was making far more out of the situation than necessary, but… fuck, he wasn't fooling anyone. "You really think so?"

Belle's smile was encouraging. "You're a good guy, Killian. Just be yourself."

* * *

 

Nothing had ever felt so odd as stepping into that restaurant. He'd taken Belle's advice and left the store at 1:15, hoping most of the stragglers had left by then.

Just as before, he waved off the hostess and headed towards the bar area, this time choosing a stool somewhere between the Bacardi and Captain Morgan bottles. Emma was there this time, taking an order for another customer. Her eyes widened a touch when she saw him approach but quickly recovered and gave him a small smile before turning back to her customer. He took a seat and tried to busy himself - there were Premiere League highlights on one of the screens, and it proved a decent enough distraction until she finally approached him.

"Hey," she said, wiping her hands conspicuously on her apron. "I wasn't sure if you'd come or not."

He smiled and shrugged, far more casual than he felt. "How could I resist such an invitation? Besides, the food was quite good last time."

She smiled. "Yeah, the kitchen's not bad here. Can I get you a drink?" She paused, made a face. "Or not. You have to go back to work after this, right?"

He laughed. "Aye. It's tempting, but I'll stick with water."

"You got it."

He watched as she made his drink and was sidetracked by another customer - the place wasn't _too_ busy, but it was clear he wouldn't have Emma all to himself for the afternoon.

Next time he'd have to come at 2:00.

The man who'd caught her attention clearly wasn't looking just for a refill, if the leer on his face and the uncomfortable way he leaned over the bar were anything to go by. Emma handled him with astonishing grace, a sweet smile but a firm boundary struck between them - he wished he could hear what she was saying - as she handed him another beer, and the man seemed more amused than put-out to be shot down in such a manner. Even without hearing her words, it was a masterful performance.

She brought Killian his water with an eyeroll and a glance in the other man's direction, and he couldn't help but laugh. "I'd say that's far more difficult than handsy housewives, love. That was impressive."

She shrugged. "You get used to it. Do you know what you want?"

"I've only had a burger here. What's good?"

"Anything that's fried or barbecued. Stay away from the pot roast and you'll be fine."

He stuck with the same meal he'd ordered before and tried to stay out of her way; he surreptitiously watched as she handled other customers with the same sort of skill she'd used with that one sexist pig (the rest seemed nice, at least) and expertly sliced lemons and limes, presumably for use on her evening shift.

"Emma?" he finally ventured to ask, once the customers' demands seemed to have quieted down and she was left with nothing to do but slice fruit, "Where are you going every afternoon? I see you walking past my store every day."

She shrugged, barely looking up from her limes. "The food court in the mall. I know most of the people there. They give me free lunch and I give them free drinks when they come in."

He grinned. "Making friends everywhere around here, it seems."

"Eh, I wouldn't call them _friends_. We're… friendly, I guess, but none of us hang out or anything. We just exchange favors."

He paused mid-bite. Was that all her invitation was about? Did Emma just see him as some kind of… obligation? A discount on lunch in exchange for a dozen short naps in his store? He tried to hide his frown. "That… sounds like a good deal."

"Yeah, it works out okay." She stopped her work for a moment, and then, not even looking up: "So, you're not some crazy stalker or something, are you?"

Killian choked on his french fry.

It probably wasn't the most embarrassing thing he'd done in front of her (he still mentally slapped himself for fumbling that umbrella like a bloody prat, and dear God, _I missed seeing you last week_? What was _wrong_ with him?), and at least this time he might garner some sympathy rather than a side-eye. But he still choked on his fucking french fry.

He wiped his mouth when his coughing fit finally subsided. "Come again?"

"Um. You? Possible stalker?"

"I must admit, I'm mildly offended."

She raised a curious eyebrow. "How's that? You've noticed my lunch schedule, you knew when I overslept, so much so that you actually woke me up, and then you suddenly showed up here one day -"

Killian couldn't hold back his laugh.

"Is something funny?"

"Just you, love." He grinned, grateful for a conversational opening that didn't make him look like a fool. "I've done nothing but go to work every day. _You're_ the one who walks in front of the store so regularly I could set my watch to it. After a few months I was bound to notice. And that's not even getting started on your little naps." She blushed lightly but he kept going. "Of course I was going to notice that. I paid attention because I was trying to figure out what the hell you were doing."

She sighed. "Look, if it's that big a deal I don't have to keep bothering you - "

"You're no bother at all, love," he assured her. "I'm just pointing out that _you're_ the one who keeps coming by _my_ place of work. If anyone in this situation is a stalker, it's probably you."

She seemed to use the knife a little more forcefully on the next lime, but he could see her biting back a grin. "Fair enough. But you _did_ come in here one day. How do I know you weren't - "

"I had no idea you worked here, I promise. I'd simply forgotten my lunch and this was the closest place. Do you make it a point to buy meals for potential stalkers, by the way?"

Emma's eye roll was a thing of beauty. "No. I didn't think you were going to stick around long enough to see me back here. I dunno, I just thought you were - I dunno."

"Thought I was what?"

She shook her head. "Nevermind." She took a beat before a smirk overtook her features. "Nice umbrella-handling skills, by the way."

It was his turn to feel the heat creeping up his face, but he wasn't about to let her have that one. "I trained with the best." He let his smirk drop. "That was very kind of you give me one, you know."

She waved it off. "I told you, it was nothing. Besides, I owed you one."

There it was again, the suspicion that Emma saw this as more of a business transaction than anything else. Then again, she was still talking to him, but the constant references to _owing_ and _returning the favor_ didn't settle well with him. Like she couldn't accept a simple kindness of him letting her have a few moments of sleep.

Like if she didn't do this, he wouldn't let her sleep in his store.

He was left to chew on that thought as she disappeared to the back of the restaurant for a few minutes while he finished his food when something else occurred to him - how much was he supposed to tip her?

Killian found tipping in American restaurants one of the strangest bits of culture shock he ran into when he first moved here. Better, he thought, to simply pay your employees a decent wage rather than leave them to the whims of customers; he'd dealt with enough of them at his own job to know how unreasonable they could be. In the end he didn't mind much; food and drinks were so much cheaper here than in London that he didn't hesitate to tip generously; it was still less expensive than it would be across the pond and he'd developed quite a bit of sympathy for service personnel after being in Regina's employ.

He didn't need the money anyway.

In any other situation he'd tip Emma outrageously; she was beautiful and enjoyable to talk to, and did her job well. But if he tipped her too much - her preoccupation with _quid pro quo_ might make her think he expected something, and… no. He couldn't do that. And then the fact that she was giving him a discount further muddled things. Should he tip on the amount before the discount or after?

He was two seconds away from calling Belle for advice when Emma returned behind the bar. _Shit_.

"Need anything else?" she asked as she took his plate.

'Just the check, love." _And the ability to think like a rational human being when it comes to you._ Struggling for something to say, he continued as she went to the nearby computer station to print his bill. "So what do you do when you're not here?"

"Huh?"

"Hobbies, interests, that sort of thing. You've told me you work a lot, but there's got to be _something_ you do with your leisure time."

Emma snorted. "Leisure time? You're kidding, right? And why do you care, anyway?"

She seemed amused at the question, but her reaction left Killian horrified, _I wouldn't call them friends_ echoing in his head (why _wouldn't_ he care?) along with the implication regarding her work schedule. He struggled to keep his voice steady. "Just making conversation. Are… are you really here seven days a week?"

She shook her head as she handed him his check. "No, I have Sundays off. I usually just sleep in, and then the rest of the day is laundry and grocery shopping and anything else I need to get done." She shrugged. "Netflix if I can stay awake long enough."

It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral. _Bloody fuck_. She had no idea what she'd just revealed to him, just how much of her life he'd put together from what little he knew about her. Knowing she worked 12-hours shifts with only one day off to take care of basic necessities and household chores was one thing, but hearing it from her, so nonchalant and matter-of-fact, that she just accepted it, that her life was work and nothing else, twisted something in his gut that this incredible woman never had a moment to simply relax and breathe and enjoy herself.

A 70-hour-plus work week should be more than enough for her to survive on her own, even if her usual pay didn't lend itself to an ostentatious lifestyle. What else was she doing? Saving for something? Supporting relatives or children? Paying off a debt? He'd heard enough horror stories of the American health care system to know it was a possibility.

He allowed half a second for all the possibilities to fly through his head before he smiled, brushed it off just as she did, a pleasant illusion. "Well, I happen to be a Netflix connoisseur. I'm happy to provide recommendations." He handed her his credit card and her smile was small but genuine, her thankfully not having caught on to the crushing sympathy he felt for her - sympathy he knew she wouldn't want.

"I'll let you know if I need any suggestions," she told him as she handed his card and receipt back. "So. See you around?" And there she was, back in the posture she'd taken when she first invited him here, the one that made him think he wasn't some sort of burden on her sense of fairness. Shoulders high, hands shoved in her pockets, a light blush on her cheeks.

The posture that gave him hope.

"Well, we do have a long-standing Friday appointment." He smiled at her, and as much as he could tell she tried to fight it for a few seconds, soon a grin broke out on her face that stole his breath away.

It stunned him, that this busy, exhausted woman would even give him the time of day given what she was dealing with - and he _still_ had no idea what that was and knew it would eat at him until he figured it out - but the fact that she retained her sense of humor and a seemingly positive attitude floored him, after whatever bulllshit she'd obviously been through.

She was far stronger that he was, that was for certain. He shoved aside that tiny voice in his head and focused on Emma instead, cataloguing her smile and committing it to memory. They had a few brief seconds of eye contact, of _understanding_ , almost like -

\- almost like they could be friends.

"See you soon, Killian." Her words were almost an afterthought, trailing off as she walked down the bar to tend to another customer.

He'd never been happier or more confused in his life as he stared after her for a long moment before looking down at his bill. She'd given him 50% off.

In the end, he did a quick bit of mental math and tipped 20% on what his bill would have cost without the discount.

He signed his credit card slip with _Killian "Stalker" Jones_.


	5. Chapter 5

"You choked on your french fries." Robin looked very much like a disapproving parent. A disapproving parent who was highly amused at his child's idiocy and trying his damndest not to laugh.

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"Absolutely not. How else did you embarrass yourself?"

He sighed. The break room interrogations were becoming more and more tiresome, mostly because Robin spent half the time taking the piss out of him. "She mocked my ability to handle an umbrella."

Robin did laugh then. "I don't know what it is about this woman that turns you into a bumbling fool, but remind me to thank her for it." He paused, considering. "What _is_ it about her, anyway? Aside from how she looks."

Killian shrugged, not really sure how to articulate it. "I don't know, I'm just… curious about her." It sounded pathetic even to his ears.

"She's a person, not an episode of CSI."

"I bloody well know that."

"Do you?"

Killian glared. " _Yes_." Robin held up his hands in surrender, and he sighed again. "She's got this sense of humor that comes through every now and again when she forgets to act cautious around me. She's not the ice queen you seem to think she is."

"What is she, then?"

"Someone who doesn't mind making fun of me. Doesn't mind laughing when I make a stupid joke. Exhausted and overworked, but doesn't complain about it. Probably had a shit upbringing."

Robin leaned back in his chair. "What makes you say that?"

Killian hesitated, reluctant to share too much. "Just an offhand comment she made."

"CSI."

" _Person_ ," Killian shot back. He scrubbed his face with his hand. "I don't know, half the time I think she might be interested and then the other half I think she's just tolerating me because she feels obligated."

"Ask her out, then."

"What?"

"Ask her out," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you're not sure how she feels, ask her."

"That's… surprisingly sensible."

Robin grinned. "Which is _exactly_ why you won't do it."

"You're not going to dare me into asking her out," he grumbled. "Besides, even if she said yes, when the hell would we have time? She has to spend her only day off taking care of everything she can't do during the week."

"If she's interested, she'll make time."

Killian frowned. "I doubt it's that simple for her. And if she's not interested…"

Robin's eyes widened in understanding. "She'll stop coming by here, probably."

"Aye. And Emma loses her place to catch a bit of rest."

Robin looked at him oddly. "You're… more concerned that she won't have a place to nap than you are about being rejected?"

He started to protest before realizing Robin was completely correct. "I suppose I am."

Robin finally settled on shaking his head. "You should ask her," he repeated.

Killian set his jaw. "Fine. I will."

* * *

He was planning to ask her, honestly. But Friday hardly seemed the occasion to do it, what with the limited amount of time she would be in the store. He certainly couldn't do it before her nap, and he damn well wasn't going to stop her on her way out, not when she only had a few minutes to get back to work.

So Friday was out, obviously. Next Tuesday, then, the next time he would go see her for lunch. He could go in later than usual, have his meal, and then ask before leaving, once the restaurant had slowed down.

Making plans, he soon learned, was a good way to hear God laugh.

Tuesday came, and despite his best efforts to make his lunch a late one, the place was overrun with a busload of tourists on some stop in a cross-country Greyhound route. Emma had thrown him an apologetic smile as she ran back-and-forth behind the bar, scarcely able to stop long enough to take his order much less hold a conversation. The discount she gave him and a quick "See you Friday!" as she dropped off his receipt going at a near-sprint wasn't much of a consolation, not when he would have to wait another week before getting a chance to talk to her again.

"You could just go back tomorrow. Or Thursday. _Or_ Friday," Belle pointed out when he returned from lunch.

If he blanched at the idea, it was definitely _not_ because he was procrastinating. "I think the best course of action is to not appear like a stalker, love. It'll wait until next week." Belle simply walked off with a long-suffering sigh. "Bloody tourists," he mumbled.

He hoped the mob Emma was waiting on tipped well, at least.

* * *

It was the first time in years that he hadn't noticed the date approaching. It usually crept up on him, casting a dark cloud for half of the month and rendering him rather unpleasant to be around. (Robin and Belle could testify to that. They mostly left him alone; it was better for everyone that way.)

It was the oddest thing, how it had completely slipped his mind. These days his thoughts were mostly occupied by a set of green eyes and an elusive smile.

Grateful as he was for the distraction, it didn't stop the darkness from settling in when he woke that Tuesday, the number on the calendar in the kitchen mocking him as he fumbled for coffee. He'd hardly slept the night before, and on days like this, half-asleep and clumsy, he found himself mourning the loss of his hand more than usual.

(He still mourned other things more, would happily give his other hand to get them back.)

Robin and Belle sensed it instantly and gave him a wide berth that morning, and Regina thankfully didn't show her face; he was in no mood to deal with her… unusual style of management. It was unfair to his friends, he knew, to make them tiptoe around him like this, but after he blew up on Robin the first time it happened three years prior - his first year working for Regina - they knew better.

Belle hadn't even worked there at that point, but Killian knew Robin had clued her in after she was hired; about how Killian had exploded on him after one too many "are you all right?"s followed by a "what the hell is wrong with you?" About how the next night he called him to drunkenly apologize and explain - said too much, probably, but it was enough for Robin to forgive him for acting like an arse.

Belle was especially brave this time, quietly approaching to ask if he'd be having lunch at Emma's bar.

He scoffed. "No. If I subjected her to me right now she'd run away screaming."

Belle hummed thoughtfully. "I think you're giving both of you too little credit."

She left before Killian could ask what she meant by that.

* * *

Belle's words rang through his head for the rest of the day, never more so than when Emma walked by the storefront just after 3:00. She slowed as she went past, nearly stopping when she reached the doors, peering inside before continuing on her way. He ached to talk to her, to have one of her rare smiles pointed in his direction, a little bit of sunshine to push out the darkness.

He also had no desire to dump his burdens on her; it wasn't her job to pull him out of his funk, and she clearly had enough of her own problems to deal with without becoming party to his own. Still, he found himself pausing as he walked by the bar after locking up the store for the night, just after 7:00.

Fuck, he needed a drink. And just as he attempted to talk himself out of going inside, a tiny voice in his mind whispered _maybe the two of you could share your burdens, eventually._ It was the first hopeful thought he'd had all day. Possibly misguided and uncharacteristically (stupidly) optimistic, but… hopeful.

He went inside.

He couldn't quite bring himself to sit at the bar, choosing the same tiny booth where he'd sat the first time he came in. He glanced towards the bar as he sat, catching a glimpse of blonde hair and feeling his lips twitch up automatically as he watched Emma mix up one fruity concoction after another and place them on a waiting server's tray.

She caught his eye and did a double-take as she wiped her hands on her apron, confusion briefly flickering over her face before she gave him a tentative smile.

He returned the expression as best he could, only then realizing he'd been caught staring ( _again_ ), and she likely wondered why he hadn't bothered to sit at the bar. He ordered a scotch from the waitress who approached and declined to see a menu - better to drink something he'd have to sip slowly than find himself in a drunken heap by the end of the night - and settled back in his seat, blankly staring at the hockey game on one of the many television screens. This was his life now, apparently - drinking by himself just to be in close proximity to a woman who had no idea she'd become the highlight of his pathetic days.

He almost didn't look up when the drink was placed in front of him, but his eyes snapped up when a familiar voice told him, "First one's on me." And there she stood, less than a foot away from him, tired eyes and a kind smile greeting him.

"Thanks, love." He held the glass up in a small toast before taking a sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it warmed him through - or perhaps that was her.

"Long day?" she asked, and he actively fought his wince at the note of sympathy in her voice.

He shrugged, struggling to seem nonchalant. "Something like that."

"Hey," she said, reaching out as if to grab his wrist and then pulling back at the last moment. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be all right," he assured her, and the set of her mouth told him she saw straight through the evasion for what it was, but she didn't press. "Don't let me keep you from your work, love."

Her head tilted and she opened her mouth as though to say something before thinking the better of it. "Okay. Just yell if you need anything."

He gave her a quick nod before she disappeared back behind the bar. His next sip was considerably larger than his first.

* * *

One scotch turned into five.

Despite his best intentions, the drinks grew easier and easier to swallow as he downed them, and Emma was generous when pouring them, something he found himself oddly grateful for. He'd take an extra-large scotch over feigned sympathy any day.

_Is it really feigned?_ , that tiny voice asked him.

His brain was trying to kill him, he was certain.

Just past 9:30, he found another scotch and a basket of french fries set on the table before him, just before Emma plopped herself into the seat opposite him.

"You're not driving home," she told him.

He blinked at her stupidly. "What?"

"You're not driving home," she repeated, gesturing to the basket in front of him. "Now eat some damn fries before you get sick from drinking on an empty stomach."

"Says the woman who just handed me another scotch." He fought to keep the slur out of his words and knew he wasn't entirely successful.

Emma simply shrugged. "Eh, what's one more? Besides, you seem like you need it." Her mouth twitched up a tiny bit. "Just try not to choke on these, okay?"

At any other time he would have teased her back, but he couldn't find the will. Emma frowned when her joke didn't land. "Aye," Killian muttered, taking another sip before shoving a fry into his mouth.

She leaned back in her seat. "So, you want to tell me what's bothering you?"

His eyebrow shot up. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I just clocked out."

"Oh." He swallowed heavily. "I don't - I don't want you to concern yourself with - "

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "I'm a bartender. I'm pretty sure that makes me an amateur shrink. You wouldn't believe the crap some people tell me."

"So you've clocked out, but you're still working, in a way."

She considered him before stealing a french fry. "Maybe."

He chewed hard on his lip, biting back the thought that she'd sought _him_ out for once. His next words came before he could stop them. "It's a bit of an… anniversary for me. Not a good one."

Her eyes narrowed and he could feel her studying him, reading between the lines of his words and watching her knowing expression as the pieces fell into place. For all the time he'd spent figuring _her_ out it had never quite occurred to him that she might have been doing the same. He shifted in his seat under her gaze, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him.

_So this is what it's like_. Turnabout was fair play, he supposed.

"Your hand?" she asked, her voice gentle. It was the first time she'd ever acknowledged it, the first time she'd even _glanced_ at it, as far he could remember, and his stomach twisted at her observation.

"Aye. Car accident. Drunk driver." It was all he could say.

Her expression turned thoughtful and he kept his eyes down at the scrutiny, busying himself with the food she'd set in front of him.

"That's not it, though. You lost someone," she finally said. It's not a question.

He nodded. "My brother, Liam. And Milah." He lets her fill in the blanks and studiously ignores her face. As uncomfortable as it is he lets her, allows her the same shallow look into his life she'd already unknowingly given to him.

"That sucks." It was the last thing he expected her to say, but it's better, somehow. Not sympathy, just simple _acknowledgement_ , and it burned at the back of his eyes for a moment before he blinked it away.

He shook his head. "It was… six years ago." He'd later blame the alcohol, but he kept talking. "You'd think I'd handle it a bit better by now."

She held out a french fry for him to take and he did, still unable to meet her eyes.

"Have you ever told anyone before? Your friends?"

"No. I mean… they know, but not because I was pouring my heart out to them. More like apologizing for acting miserable."

He finally found the will to meet her gaze and it was nearly unreadable, save for the tiniest of smiles on her face. "Well, you just told me about it. That seems like a pretty good way to start handling it."

His breath nearly stopped at the simple kindness shown to him, the lack of judgment, the… she settled him. She was enough.

He knew if he didn't stop his current train of thought he'd fall in love with her before he knew her last name.

"It's okay to grieve, you know." The words were so quiet he could scarcely hear them over the music.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "I know. Seems I've done enough of that for a lifetime already, though."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the mood odd but not entirely uncomfortable as he sipped at his scotch and they shared his fries. It was part gratitude, part guilt that fueled his next question. That she'd lend him an ear when he didn't deserve it, shown compassion he hadn't seen before, and his own relentless curiosity.

"Why… why do you work so much?" Her face dropped but he didn't stop, the raw and broken part of him that just needed to _know_ overriding his better judgment. "I know life can be expensive, but you're running yourself ragged, love, and - "

The dark look that crossed her face was enough to shut him up. "I'm paying off a debt," she finally said, her posture going stiff.

"Oh." That hardly narrowed it down, but he knew better than to press further. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" he nearly said "pry" before realizing that was _exactly_ what he was doing, "...dredge up unpleasant memories."

She relaxed slightly. "It's okay. Not like I didn't just do the same thing."

"Indeed." Their shared smile was cautious, but it still felt like an olive branch.

"You're still not driving home," she told him, recovering a bit.

"Of course not. No one knows the consequences of driving drunk better than I." He couldn't keep the trace of bitterness out of his voice.

She looked suitably chastened but didn't back down. "Do you have someone you can call?"

He shrugged, knowing Belle or Robin would help if asked, but he'd subjected them to enough of his nonsense for the day. "I can get a cab. Or an Uber. Just like _he_ could have."

He nearly spat the last words, knowing he was wallowing and unable to help himself; it felt _good_ to voice his rage rather than bottling it up for once. The aptly-named Mr. Gold who'd walked away from the crash with hardly a scratch to show for it. He'd paid handsomely in the civil suit, another several hundred thousand pounds on top of Liam's life insurance policy, but his money and top-notch lawyers had gotten him off on criminal charges due to a technicality.

"Hey," she said, and then she did touch him, her fingers hot at his wrist before he realized his hand was shaking. "I'll drive you home."

He paused, long and hard as he stared at her palm on his flesh, scorching the skin there but settling him at the same time. Still, he'd already infringed enough on her time, as precious as it was to her. She could have already been home by now getting some desperately-needed sleep.

"I'm… I'm not some charity case, love."

Her face hardened, her hand stilling over his. "Neither am I."

They stared at one another for a long moment, a too-taut wire strung between them ready to snap. Killian blinked first, turning his hand in hers to lace their fingers together, giving a quick squeeze before letting go.

"Of course not," he said, contrition in his voice, a bit of slack loosening the tension. He watched her relax before speaking once more. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile tense but understanding. "Yeah, I am."


End file.
